


While These Visions Did Appear

by kinetikatrue



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_flashfiction, M/M, Self-Insert, Self-Insertion Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams within dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While These Visions Did Appear

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/)**j_s_cavalcante** , because she's awesome. Any remaining mistakes are clearly mine. Title stolen from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Ray woke, startled, to darkness, gripped by the feeling that he wasn’t alone in it. Which was stupid, because of course he wasn’t; Fraser was in bed beside him, warm and solid and deeply asleep.

Then someone spoke - a woman, low-voiced and a bit menacing - right into his ear it seemed like. She purred, or growled, “Ray Kowalski.”

And Ray tried to roll over, turn toward the voice, but he couldn’t. This woman, whose voice he didn’t recognize, despite her being in his bedroom and knowing his name, she had him pinned to the bed using his own blankets. Which was a pretty good trick, really, when you thought about it. If you were looking to psych someone out.

So Ray said, “Yeah. And you’re Victoria Metcalf, right? So, what’s the deal?” Because his subconscious clearly thought it knew shit it had no business knowing. Plus, y’know, it maybe had a death-wish. Due to hanging out with Fraser for so long.

She didn’t contradict him, though, just said, her voice an unfriendly smile, “I’ve got unfinished business with you, Kowalski.”

That got Ray’s attention real fast, and he turned his head to look at her, or where she ought to be out there in the dark, anyway, and asked (though his subconscious was making like it already knew), “With me? What’ve I got to do with anything?”

And then even the unfriendly smile was gone, each word she spoke now as unflinchingly hard as a bullet, “You undid my hard work, Kowalski. He was broken and you fixed him and now I’m going to have to break him all over again. He won’t break so nice, this time.”

Ray really just wanted to snarl at her, but he kept quiet so as not to wake Fraser, who really did not need this shit - at all. His eyes had adjusted some, so he could see the pale oval of her face, maybe a foot or two away, and fill in her curly, dark hair and her long, dark coat, familiar from the picture attached to the case-file. He really, really wanted to get out of that bed and make his mark on that chill, perfect paleness, but the blankets still bound him on one side and Fraser blocked the way on the other.

Ray glared at her, instead, and told her, voice full of every ounce of quiet menace he could muster, “Well, you’re gonna have to go through me.”

And just like that she wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen her move or heard any noises aside from their voices - and when he got up out of bed to take a good look around there wasn’t a single sign that she’d been there at all. Which was just plain weird.

He didn’t think he’d been dreaming - though Victoria turning up in the Territories would be a first-class nightmare, for sure. Pinching himself hurt, and nothing else had been weird. But people didn’t just vanish into thin air - outside of comic books or the movies - so maybe he was. And if he was, then there wasn’t anything he could do about anything. If he wasn’t - well, what was he supposed to do besides wait for her to show up again?

And that he guessed he could do. He’d made a career of sitting all night, waiting for things to happen, once upon a time, after all.

***

Ray woke again, all twisted up in the blankets and curled around Fraser’s pillow. The sun was up and he blinked against the unexpected light. He was the only person in the room, now. But Victoria Metcalf had been there. Ray was sure of it. He was sure the front door was unlatched, too.

He stumbled out of bed into his slippers and a sweater that Fraser had left draped over the end of the bed. Then Ray made for the stairs. He had to check the door, check on Diefenbaker.

Dief was sprawled on the rag rug that got all the morning sunlight, looking supremely unconcerned. Which was greatness. There weren’t any extra pairs of shoes by the door or any signs that a stranger had come through. That was even better.

When Ray turned around to re-latch the screen door - just to be safe - he nearly jumped. Someone was standing there. A dark-haired woman, haloed by sunlight. Then he blinked and the stranger resolved into their nearest neighbor, Judy, holding a thoroughly unrepentant-looking sled dog by the collar. Normal. Just like Judy explaining exactly where she’d found McQueen this time, and Ray glaring at him and apologizing to her. Reality kicked back in with a jolt.

Of course he didn’t need to worry about Victoria coming to get them; she’d been caught, was even now serving several consecutive life sentences in a high-security Georgia prison. If she’d somehow escaped, they’d have heard about it long before she could make it all the way to the Northwest Territories and start playing head-games with him in his and Fraser’s bedroom.

Ray closed the inner door after Judy, anyway, because, sure, you could usually see people or hear them a damn long time before they got close enough to do anything, much less shoot to kill, but his subconscious was still jittering along, not sure it believed that there really wasn’t a threat.

Every bit of him was sure of one thing, though: it was definitely time for coffee. Instant for a start. The good stuff could wait until Ray had two braincells to rub together again.

He was standing at the counter, stirring Smarties into his tap-water instant coffee, when the water came on again at the sink. He almost jumped, again. He whirled around, brandishing his wooden spoon like a sword, instead. “Mum? What’re you doing here?”

She smiled, distorting the mostly-healed incision on her right cheek, and hugged him, then pulled back, “Oh, Stanley, I know you don’t like it when I drop by unannounced, but I was in the area and I thought it couldn’t hurt just this once . . . “

It was good to see her - though she was smaller than Ray remembered, stick-thin and tiny, just barely reaching his chin. He couldn’t remember her saying anything about having to get surgery for anything on her face, either. Not that she would tell him, necessarily, but . . . she looked . . . different. Something was queer . . .

She still had her hand on his arm. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his other hand - and her smile turned a little sad for a moment, “It was just a biopsy, dear.”

He was an adult now, and a former cop besides, but the way she said it made it clear that she was only going to tell him what she wanted him to know. And what was he going to do - grill her like a perp? So he smiled back and gave her another hug, since it had been pretty much forever since he’d seen her.

And, ok, so, ‘stopping by ‘cause she was in the area’ was kinda crazy given it was at least a three-step plane trip from here to Chicago, but she was his mum, and she’d always done stuff like that. Just like she’d always wanted to feed him more and make sure his shirts were ironed and just, generally, that he was taken care of.

She sent him off to curl up under the quilt on the sofa while she did the few unwashed dishes. So, he put on some big band music, ‘cause it was something they both liked, and pulled out a stack of environmental policy journals he’d been meaning to read for a while, and prepared to have a mellow sort of morning.

***

Ray woke to a smushed, one-eyed view of some highway and cold glass against his cheek. For a moment he wondered where the quilt had gone. Then he remembered he was on a bus. He’d just been dreaming the Territories. He hadn’t actually been there for days now – nearly a week, really.

And that sucked. Which position his subconscious was clearly in support of, given that dream. And the weather, too, what with the sky full of grey, grey clouds out the window and the nasty rain spitting against it – typical of it to get on board when he didn’t actually want the support.

Ray flopped away from the window, not even thinking to check whether there was anyone sitting next to him. Which, okay, there wasn’t, but jeez.

He was just debating getting up and using the bathroom at the back of the bus, when the driver announced that Baltimore would be their next stop - twenty minutes. Ray slumped back into his seat; he could wait for the stopover..

There was just time at the stopover for him to empty his bladder and get back to the bus - and get enough splattered by cold, fat rain-drops (despite pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt and burrowing deeper into his winter coat) that he knew he’d be feeling the damp for the rest of the trip. Which made the fact that there definitely hadn’t been time to grab some coffee seem all the more unfair.

Ray was still damp around the edges when the bus pulled into the station in D.C. But that was the only thing rushing him. Once he got his duffle back from the luggage compartment under the bus, he had pretty much all the time in the world. He thought that maybe he’d get a cup of coffee and a roast beef sandwich and fries from the Hardee’s inside the station - and try and figure out what he was going to do next while he warmed his bones and filled his stomach.

He had eaten the sandwich and was dipping fries in ketchup and mayonnaise squeezed out onto the sandwich wrapper when his skin began to prickle. Someone was staring at him. So Ray chewed and swallowed the fry he’d just popped into his mouth and picked up his cup of coffee to give himself something to stare out over while taking a careful survey of his surroundings.

Fraser took up his entire field of vision, looking thoroughly real, from the crown of his hallowed hat to the toes of his beat-up hiking boots, and including every square inch of ratty cream sweater and worn denim in between. Ray couldn’t even say he was surprised. He just wanted to get up out of his seat, get his arms around Fraser, and not let go pretty much ever again.

But Fraser was saying, “Ray,” and he sounded plaintive and looked worried. And the set of his chin told Ray everything he needed to know about just how determined Fraser was to do whatever it was he had come here for.

So Ray said, “Fraser,” careful and even and calm (on the surface).

And that was it; that one word, Fraser’s own name, seemed to kick-start something in him. He said, “I want you to call me Ben, Ray.” And his hand came up to rub at his left eyebrow.

Ray said, “Sure, Frase- .”

“ _Ben_.” He insisted.

Ray told him, “Sorry - I’ll get my brain around it eventually.” And he would. Definitely. This meant things, for sure.

Ben was nodding, _good, good_ , but he still looked worried, so Ray wasn’t too surprised when the next thing he said also began with the words ‘I want’. Ben said it like a litany, though, like he’d been saying it in his head for a week, like he needed Ray to know just exactly how fervently he meant every word of it.

He said, “I want you to come home. I want your music to fill the cabin. I want to dance with you. And to know joy with you. I want you to share my bed. I want it to be our bed,” and he blushed, like he was all too aware that he was saying these things in the middle of a bus station food court, but he still looked determined. And his voice was steady and serious when he said, “I want to grow old with you. And I do want to love you.” That last was defiant.

“Yeah,” Ray said, “yeah, yeah - yes, Ben.” And he was on his feet, reaching for _Ben_ , ready to fist his hands in that sweater, lay his cheek against Ben’s, get up close and personal with his lips, do this thing for real. Ben met him halfway.

***

I woke in the grey pre-dawn. My heart was racing and my body was thrumming with the need to act or react. A chorus of _‘Help Fraser. Stop Victoria. Help Fraser. Stop Victoria.’_ sang along my nerves.

I was halfway up and out of bed before I looked down and saw that I was me, that I was fully dressed and had been sleeping lying at an odd angle against the pillows in my own single bed. It had all been a dream.

I wasn’t Ray Kowalski. The woman with the healing incision was my own mother. Victoria Metcalf wasn’t hunting me. Fraser hadn’t really tracked my travels south to Washington DC to find me at a bus station there.

I didn’t know whether to feel sad or relieved. But I knew how to get away with feeling both: I could write those stories.


End file.
